


My Fair Musketeer

by Sigmund



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: AU, Angst, Gen, My Fair Lady Homage, My Fair Lady theme, crankiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7672033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/pseuds/Sigmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>D'Artagnan meets Athos, and is inspired to better his life. D'Artagnan wants to be a Musketeer and turns to Athos to help him along with  Aramis and Porthos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to AZGirl! She betaed this story (all leftover mistakes are mine) and helped me sort out the ending.
> 
> Yes, this is a twist on My Fair Lady where d'Artagnan is Eliza, Athos is Professor Higgins, Aramis and Porthos share the role of Colonel Pickering and well, Treville is sort of Mrs. Higgins. 
> 
> Much of the dialogue is from the movie (not the book) and I never realized Higgins was not nice.

Athos stumbled out of the tavern eager to get some air after the cramped quarters.  Porthos was out of the city on a mission, more than likely returning in the morning.  Aramis had found his own divertimento.  Too much wine made him attune to the late sounds of Paris. 

On the street, some of the peasants warmed themselves over a smudge pot. The swordsman took notice for a brief moment before he stumbled, accidentally running into a passerby.

Unfortunately, the passerby was wearing the uniform of a Red Guard. “A Musketeer,” the Red Guard sneered. He whistled loud and other Red Guards came forward like ants.

“I will pass, and that will conclude this matter.”

The five Red Guards laughed and one gave him a shove.

Athos clenched his fists, not willing to result in fisticuffs just yet in order to avoid trouble and Treville’s reprimand.  However, he underestimated his opponent as he was hit on the back of the head which brought him down to one knee.

“Hey, leave ‘em alone!” A dark haired lad, perhaps eighteen, perhaps twenty, over-long hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in a long time. A shoddy jacket and worn boots completed the look.

The Musketeer did not want anyone else involved. He drew his sword. The blade was enough for a few of the Red Guardsmen to fall back, but one was particularly persistent. Within seven moves he was dispatched.

“But you were drunk,” the boy who had remained nearby said.

Athos was not incapacitated and did not like the impertinent assumption of the boy. “You see your help was not needed.”

“You’re a Musketeer.”

“Yes. Athos of the Musketeers. I will leave you.” He headed towards his apartment, dreaming of his bed and a few hours of sleep before having to report to the garrison.

* * *

 

When Athos arrived at the garrison both Porthos and Aramis were waiting for him while eating their breakfasts.  “When did you return?” Athos accepted the bread, but nothing more from Aramis.

“Just a little while ago,” Porthos answered as he protected his bowl of porridge with arms on each side.

They were interrupted by a new Musketeer, Jacques. “There is a young man who wants to see you, sir.”

The swordsman was not expecting a visitor and did not like surprises. “A young man? What does he want?”

Jacques had no answers. Aramis took pity on him and waived him on.  “Show him in.”

The new Musketeer returned with the olive skinned boy from late yesterday evening. “This is the young man, sir.”

  
The boy licked his lips and spoke slowly. “Good morning. Might I have the pleasure of a word?”

Athos frowned. Had he told the lad to come to the garrison? “Are you here for a reward?” He pulled some coins from his pocket, forced them into the boy’s hand. “Now be off with you.”

The young man threw back the money. “You ain't heard what I come for yet.”

“Let the boy speak, Athos.” Aramis had brought one leg on the bench and was relaxed as if he was watching theater.

The boy gave the medic a nod. “I came for lessons. And to pay for them too, make no mistake.”

Athos snorted in disbelief. He had no time for these antics. “And what do you expect me to say?”

The boy huffed, his nostril’s flared. “Did you not hear that I can pay?”

Porthos had finished his porridge and took interest. “What do you want, lad?”

The boy squared his shoulders. ”I work at the dock. My family owned a farm in Lupiac, but my father died and I came here for work. I want to be a Musketeer, but I need someone to teach me.” He scratched his foot in the ground. “Well, here I am ready to pay him, not asking any favor.”

Aramis laughed, then covered his mouth to hide the smirk. “His last pupil was stolen by the Cardinal.”

It was still a sore point, aggravated because Athos saw the traitor on an almost daily basis. “Rochefort was greedy and I did not teach him everything.”

“What’s your name?” Porthos moved closer to Aramis on the bench.

The boy was wary. “Charles d’Artagnan. I’m called d’Artagnan.”

Porthos gave a nod to Aramis who also was in silent agreement. “Be fun if all of us could show them up. But, I bet Athos won’t do it. Sorry, lad.”

Aramis slapped Porthos’s shoulder, and then leveled his gaze on Athos. “Bet? I'll bet you that you can't do it. If you can then I will make sure you have enough wine for a year.”

“Wine for a year?”  The idea was tempting for him to be able to save his coin, and the boy seemed driven. “We'll start today, now. Clean him up.”  Athos sat back down and gestured for Aramis and Porthos to take care of his charge. “Sandpaper, if it won't come off any other way.”  


D’Artagnan was flagging in his training. Normally he took a break to eat, but today he could not find the energy, instead helping himself to some water while Athos got a plate of food from Serge.

Serge placed the food in the plate. “You simply cannot go on working the boy this way: making him drill over and over, from sun up to sundown. You’ll exhaust yourself. When will it stop?”

“When he does it properly, of course. Is that all, Serge?” Athos was in the frame of mind to believe Serge had bet against him. He took two portions of bread. 

The swordsman pressed a piece into d’Artagnan’s hand. “Eat, then back to forms.”

That night they retired to Aramis’s quarters and remained with Athos laid back in a chair, his feet up. Porthos was sitting down half-asleep in another chair. Aramis was on his bed, listing slightly to the right. D’Artagnan was exhausted, but still working on his forms.

“Extend your full reach,” Athos said wearily.

D’Artagnan dropped his arms. “I can't. I'm so tired. I'm so tired...” He despaired.

Porthos snorted awake. “For God's sake, Athos, it must three o'clock in the morning. Be reasonable.”

Athos rose. “I am always reasonable. D’Artagnan, if I can go on with a blistering headache, you can.”

“I’ve got an 'eadache too,” the young man rubbed his head.

“I know your head aches; I know you're tired; I know your nerves are as raw as meat in a butcher's window. But think what you're trying to accomplish.” Aramis gestured to the pauldrons they were all wearing.  “And conquer it you will.”

“Now try it again.” Athos prompted then watched as the young man repeated the same mistake. “What was that rubbish?”

Athos pulled out his sword, and in an instant, executed the move perfectly.

D’Artagnan groaned. “That's what I've been doing for three days and I won't do ‘em no more.”

Aramis laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I know it's difficult, but try to understand.”

Athos sheathed his sword once more.  “It's no use explaining. More drilling is what he needs. Now you leave him alone or he'll be turning to you for sympathy.”

“I’m returning to my quarters.” Porthos stretched. “But have a little patience with him, Athos.”

Athos eyebrows pointed up. He gestured to the door. “Of course. Return tomorrow, d’Artagnan.”

The younger man was tempted to make another angry exchange. Instead, he gathered his belongings and headed to his room. “Just you wait Athos, just you wait! One day I'll be a Musketeer!” he mumbled to himself as he walked through the early morning streets of Paris.

* * *

 

It was another day in the garrison yard watching Porthos knock down d’Artagnan repeatedly.  Athos shook his head.

“I come about a very important matter.”

Athos noticed the large shadow before directing his attention to the big man who wanted his attention.  “Who are you and what do you want?”

The big man placed his hands on his hips. “LaBarge, and he works for me. I want him back.”

The swordsman judged the stranger in an instant. “Well of course you do. Take him away at once.”

LaBarge was taken aback. “What!”

Athos gestured with a flick of his wrist. “Take him away. I won’t keep your worker away from you.”  

LaBarge glanced between a distracted d’Artagnan and Athos. “Be reasonable. The boy owes me a debt. You got him. Where do I come in?”

“Ideally, you would leave the way you came.” Athos knew they were getting to the crux of the matter.  He recalled the lad mentioning working on the dock on the Seine.

Aramis had been overhearing the exchange from the overhang.  The sharpshooter decided to interrupt. “He’s trying to help d’Artagnan. The lad wants to be a musketeer.”

LaBarge nodded and smiled. “Of course. Five livres would be enough.”

There were days that the human race disgusted Athos in their predictability.  “So you are selling your worker?”

“Have you no morals?” Aramis rested his hand on his sword.

LaBarge spat on the ground unabashed.

Athos tossed him his money pouch. “Five livres I think you said.”

The money disappeared in the meaty hands, but d’Artagnan saw his former employer and broke from Porthos. “What are you doing here?”

Aramis stepped in between the boy and LaBarge. 

“Just leaving with a recommendation to join the Red Guards. Give Rochefort my regards. He’s always looking for men like you.” Athos dismissed the large man and with a pointed look ordered d’Artagnan to resume his training.

* * *

 

Aramis suggested that the garrison participate in d’Artagnan’s training, therefore giving him a variety of sparring partners.  Athos was complaining that the young man was not advancing. Both Aramis and Porthos had grown fond of the lad, wanting to help him even though it would mean losing the bet.

 “He did it!” Aramis proclaimed, jumping as he said it. Porthos crowed in agreement.

“We're making fine progress.” Athos smirked. “I think the time has come to try him out.”

“The Wren?” Porthos answered.

The tavern was known to both Red Guards and Musketeers, although Treville had banned Musketeers from there because of the fights that ensued between the two groups as a result.

Athos and Aramis arrived at the Wren to take up an area in the corner. “Where the devil can they be?”

D’Artagnan and Porthos entered and walked toward them, but d’Artagnan appeared slightly nervous. Porthos seemed to reassure him and the lad visibly relaxed.

They joined Aramis and Athos with Athos, the latter scrutinizing d’Artagnan. “Well let’s get to it.”

Athos presented d’Artagnan in front of a group of Red Guards. “Are these the ones?”

D’Artagnan frowned. “Does it matter?”

“Not really,” Porthos commented.

“Come on... Move yer bloomin' arse!!” D’Artagnan gave a shove and it was enough to start the brawl.

The proprietor forced them out with a musket shot, which went according to plan so they could use swords instead of fisticuffs.

Finally, the Red Guards had enough and left the quartet.

Aramis was holding up d’Artagnan who seemed a bit dazed.

“Do you think he’s ready?” Athos asked with pride.

The answer was a clearing of a throat. “I advise you to give it up now and not put yourselves and this poor boy through any more.” Rochefort sauntered up to the four with no fear.

D’Artagnan shrugged off Aramis’s assistance, but kept his head down.

“It's inhuman to continue.” Rochefort turned and was enveloped by the darkened street though his smugness remained in the air.

* * *

 

Over the next month d’Artagnan went on missions with the Inseparables. Porthos sensed that Rochefort’s words stung, but they forced the young man to try harder and listen more intently.

When they returned from their latest mission, they entered the garrison to a gathering. Porthos saw Treville on the deck outside his office and caught his friend’s attention.

“The King wants the animosity between the Red Guards and the Musketeers to stop. He has proposed a contest. Best cadet against best cadet. The winner becomes a Red Guard or Musketeer.”

“D’Artagnan should represent,” yelled a Musketeer from the crowd.

Porthos turned to the lad. “You’re are the only cadet who is ready.  Souer just started.”

The date was set and Porthos and Aramis were both nervous, but Athos was calm. “At a moment like this, with so much at stake, you’re not nervous?” For sure the fighter believed Athos would have found respite in a bottle or two of wine. “And what about the boy? You act as though he doesn't matter at all.”

“Rubbish. Of course he matters. What do you think I've been doing all these months?”

Porthos was satisfied that he ruffled the usually unflappable Athos as they stood on the sidelines waiting for the Red Guards’ champion.

Rochefort entered with his cadet, none other than LaBarge, who Athos had paid to leave d’Artagnan at the garrison.  Rochefort crossed the field so that he stood in front of Athos and Porthos.  “Surprised?” 

Porthos was not about to admit anything to the Captain of the Red Guard.

“Admit it Athos. I will always be your best pupil, and I taught LaBarge everything I know. He’ll break your man.” Rochefort sniffed in d’Artagnan’s direction. The young man had lost the nervous exuberance.  “Excuse me, I was asked to be in the royal box by the Cardinal.”

“Head over heart,” Athos warned d’Artagnan before encouraging him to enter the field for the battle of honor of the regiments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos, comments and just taking your time to read part 1. This was fun to write. The ending was difficult until AZGirl gave me some ideas-- MANY THANKS & GRATITUDE TO AZ GIRL for her help. Has anyone spotted the direct dialogue from the movie?

The atmosphere of pride could not could not be contained, and quickly an impromptu celebration broke out at the garrison.

“Absolutely fantastic!” Aramis said once more, patting Athos on the back.

Athos smothered the smile, but still his eye shined. “What a lot of tomfoolery.”

Serge had remained behind at the garrison, and now was being pulled to provide food and drink though other Musketeers were making donations. “Well?”

“A total triumph. Athos, you were superb, absolutely superb. Tell us the truth, now, weren't you a little bit nervous once or twice?”

“No, not for a second.” Someone handed Athos a bottle of wine. He didn’t look like he was going to share.

Aramis continued to press, like Porthos he did not believe Athos was nervous. “Not during the whole fight?”

Athos shook his head. “Thank God that’s over. Now I can go to bed without dreading tomorrowperiod”

Porthos raised a glass. “Did you see Rochefort’s face? He looked like he wanted to get into the fight.” The large man had kept his eyes on the Captain of the Red Guard sensing there would be repercussions.

It seemed like all the Musketeers were into their cups, celebrating with song when someone created a song praising Athos and his victory for the Musketeers.

Aramis yawned and rubbed tired eyes, eventually waved goodnight.

“I think I'll turn in too.” Porthos stumbled a few steps and then righted himself as he meandered to his room. Athos grunted, and Porthos recognized that his friend needed help to his place. He pulled the swordsman to standing and they made their way up the stairs.

Having been ignored throughout the evening, D’Artagnan remained alone at the table, and put his head down to hide his growing dejection.

* * *

 

Athos reached for the bottle he’d been given, and noticed he was laying down in his bed.  He recalled Porthos helping him to his room, but he must have left the bottle on the table. The swordsman heaved himself from the bed. He held the banister to make it downstairs.

He looked at the table, barely noticing that d’Artagnan was there by himself. “Where’s the wine?”

The younger man lifted his head, picking up a bottle and shoving it towards Athos. “Here. Take it.”

Athos complied, but noticed the forcefulness. “Is anything wrong?”

D’Artagnan shook his head. “No, nothing. I've won your bet for you, haven't I?” The new Musketeer sneered. “More wine. I don't matter, I suppose.

The swordsman was offended by the hostility. “You’re a Musketeer.” Giving up his old life, changing his profession had helped him, given him a reason to continue.

D’Artagnan picked at a gouge in the tabletop. “I'm nothing to you, not as much as that wine.”

“Perhaps you're tired after the strain of the day. Go to bed.” Athos clutched the bottle. He had given the lad the best advice, one he would take after some more wine.

Athos slept sprawled on the bed waking with a sour mouth.  He dunked his head in a bucket of cold water, took a cupful with his hand and then spit it out. He listened to his friends down in the courtyard as he remained on the balcony to regain his senses.

Aramis and Porthos were waiting for him to come down.

“Have you seen d’Artagnan this morning?” Porthos said, but the question was asked with a groan.

Aramis took his hat off, brushed his hair back, and then returned the hat with a squint on his head. “I think I saw him last night?”

Porthos nodded. “I barely see you this morning.”

Athos made his way downstairs. Serge pushed a plate towards him.

“Do you know where d’Artagnan is?” Porthos asked as he dug into his morning meal.

Athos toyed with some bread. “He seemed not himself last night, saying that my wine was more important, and that he was nothing to me.”

“And what did you say?” Aramis frowned, then looked around as if trying to see if d’Artagnan was around.

“I sent him to bed,” Athos explained, taking more interest and also looking for the lad.

Aramis’s concern grew. “Could he have gone?”

Porthos put down his spoon, then scratched his beard. “He worked hard to be a Musketeer. I don’t understand why he would leave.”

Athos shrugged. “What’s to understand?”

“I don’t believe it.” Aramis had not touched his food. “Serge, have you seen d’Artagnan?” The sharpshooter called out to the cook.

Serge did not like to be disturbed during meals. “He’s been with the Captain.”

* * *

 

Treville had found d’Artagnan sitting looking lost at the table and had asked the new Musketeer to come up to his office.

“Do you mean to say that after you'd won the challenge, they just sat there and never said a word to you?” Treville and d’Artagnan were sharing a breakfast.

D’Artagnan broke up the bread into pieces. “Not a word. They just sat there congratulating each other on how marvelous they'd been.” He drank instead of eating. “Do you think you could assign me to a different team? Or maybe I should resign…”

Treville shook his head. “This is appalling.”

There was a rapid series of knocks at the door. “What's that?”

The Captain stood up, and waved his hand so that the younger man would remain in his chair. “I knew it wouldn't be too long. Remember, you won the fight and the King made you a Musketeer.”

Athos entered first, momentarily relived to find d’Artagnan, then seemed aggravated. “You've caused enough trouble for one morning.”

“Very nicely put indeed, Athos.” Treville returned to his seat. “That’s how you speak to your new brother?”

“Are you well?” Aramis stepped forward to check on the wellbeing of the youngest.

The Captain ignored the medic. “D’Artagnan and I were just discussing if he should resign his commission or change to a different team.”

“You don’t mean that,” Porthos said in shock at the turn of events. Before he could comment any further there was a knock at the door. Porthos opened the door to allow the messenger inside.

“Sir, you’ve been asked to the palace.”

Treville opened the sealed note, and then leaned across the desk for his hat. “You may remain, but keep it civil.”

Athos waited for the Captain to leave. “Are you ready to be reasonable?” It was a laconic drawl that was filled with annoyance.

D’Artagnan crossed his arms. “You want me back only to put up with your tempers.”

“That’s not true,” Porthos defended himself and the others.

The swordsman did not want to be defended. “If you come back you'll be treated as you've always been treated. I can't change my nature, and I don't intend to change my manners. My manners are exactly the same as Aramis and Porthos!”

“That's not true.” The young man gestured with his neck. “I’m a Musketeer to them, a friend.”

The situation was running quickly out of control. “You find me cold, unfeeling, selfish, don't you? If you can't appreciate what you've got, you'd better get what you can appreciate.”

“I'm always in the wrong, but don't be too sure that you’ll have me under your feet to be trampled on and talked down. I’ll join the Red Guards, I will.” D’Artagnan moved closer to the door.

“The Red Guards!” Aramis stepped in front of the new Musketeer to stop him from making a mistake. “Athos, perhaps you should listen.”

“Ha, ha, ha! I'll wring your neck, you hear?” Athos placed his hands on his hips.

D’Artagnan shook his head, stepped around Aramis and left the trio behind as he exited without looking back.

Athos’s nostrils flared before he once again found his passive face. “We were just fine without d’Artagnan.”

Porthos shared a look with the sharpshooter. At some point this had all gone too far. “I liked having the lad around.”

“What?”

Aramis did not let the swordsman continue as he added his thoughts. “We needed a fourth, Athos. You must see that.”

“I don’t.” Athos did not look at his friends as he opened the door.

Porthos raised his voice. “What I know is that Rochefort doesn’t like losing. We should watch over the boy, not let him walk outta here.”

* * *

 

D’Artagnan was not paying attention to where he was walking. It was the need to get away from the garrison, but Athos in particular.

“He’ll always treat me like a dock worker,” the young man muttered under his breath. He was walking through the market, however too many turns had him in a quieter part of the city.

The new Musketeer turned to retrace his steps when he saw three Red Guards and Rochefort blocking his path.

D’Artagnan drew his sword as did Rocherfort. The young man was prepared to fight his way out.

“You’re alone and outnumbered.” The Captain of the Red Guards mocked d’Artagnan.

It did not matter since the younger man was not going to run away. He would fight.

He was so focused on the men before him that he did not sense the others behind him. “Musketeers are never alone.”

Athos, Aramis and Porthos drew their blades. This caused a rumble of doubt to run through the six guards, but their leader had committed them to the battle.  The Musketeers engaged the five men, although d’Artagnan tried to get to Rochefort, the man had found a way to escape.

In a few moments the wounded Red Guards were on the ground moaning their loss at the hands of better soldiers.

“I did not need the help,” d’Artagnan announced as he slipped his sword back into the scabbard. He avoided eye contact with all of them.

“You may not have needed the help, but we wanted to help our brother,” Athos replied, which caused the younger man to bring his eyes up to face his mentor.

Athos patted him on the shoulder. “The question is not whether I’ve treated you rudely, but whether you’ve seen me treat anyone better?”

“He’s a bastard all the time,” Porthos added with a grin from Aramis.

D’Artagnan smiled then laughed. Athos frowned not finding it as humorous, but shrugged it off as he prodded the new Musketeer to walk with him back to the garrison.

Aramis and Porthos trailed behind, amused at the new found peace between Athos and d’Artagnan.

“I knew the lad would be good for him all along,” Porthos nudged Aramis with his shoulder.

Aramis grinned. “I bet those two are going to be the best of friends.”

The end.


End file.
